A few days ago, I was listening to a presentation. It was a worthy cause: helping children grow up.

I liked the ideas described and they reminded me of childhood experiences of books being read to me. However, the person explaining the ideas used technical language. Instead of explaining whether they aimed to have new books to give joy, allow them to learn, or confront with something new, she talked about the way that reading would relate to the children’s cognitive capacity.

I forgot the other details she shared.

Listening to her description I found myself constantly pushed into searching for ways to connect what she was talking about with the children’s experience.

I wasn’t expecting a well-crafted story or an especially competent presentation.  None of both would have helped me imagine the support they looked for. I wasn’t looking for ways to be a hero or to be told what competent help they were hoping for.

What I learned was how her effort to provide us with a description of their competence wasn’t reassuring to me, it worried me if their focus on their technical understanding of the situation would also allow them to support the children and do what they had set out to do. It seemed that their technical knowledge of what they were doing had disconnected them from the ones they were responsible for.

The question became one of how one’s competence may be more intellectual than practical. And thus, how useful it actually is?